NOVEL WEB Chapter 177: No Room For Ghosts
The temporary court had been set up beneath a large canvas pavilion near the center of the hunting camp. Long tables, created in haste, lined the space in a poor imitation of the throne room, and soldiers lingered on the edges—pretending not to watch, pretending not to choose a side.
The Emperor sat stiffly on a raised travel chair, dressed in too many layers for the heat of the plains. His expression curled as Zhu Mingyu approached.
"You've grown brave," the Emperor said, not rising. "Keeping us here like prisoners."
Mingyu didn't stop walking. His white robe was still bloodstained, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, and the seal of the Crown Prince gleamed proudly from his waist. "I'm not stopping you."
He moved past the Emperor without a bow, without a glance, and seated himself on the travel throne usually kept behind the old man.
"I'm just not stopping anyone else," Mingyu added with a pleasant smile, "from killing you should you decide to leave."
The ministers tensed. One coughed. Another shifted uncomfortably.
The Emperor's fingers clenched the arms of his seat. "You dare threaten your ruler in front of the court? I could have you killed for this rebellion. You are nothing more than a traitor, and I will dispose of you. You are no longer the Crown Prince of the Daiyu Empire. As of this moment, you are nothing more than a criminal who will be exiled the moment we return to the Capital. I will not stand for this."
Mingyu gestured to the empty seat beside him and offered a light laugh. "I have to admit, I was more than willing to let you go on with your delusions and your paranoia. It was almost laughable how easily you could be manipulated. But then your son had to cross my bottom line. You think you can exile me and have it mean anything? My dear Imperial Father. Your time has come and gone. It's best if you can just die with some dignity."
No one moved.
Not the generals lingering in the back, not the ministers beside the Emperor, not even the guards stationed near the canvas entrance. The silence was tight as a drawn bowstring.
Zhu Mingyu leaned back on the travel throne like he belonged there.
And in that moment—he did.
The seal of the Crown Prince rested on the table beside him, weighted and undeniable. The map of the southern front lay half-unfurled beneath his palm. A thin ribbon of dried blood traced down the length of his forearm, unnoticed or uncared for.
"You brought the Red Demon Army here," the Emperor finally said, voice low. "You moved them again without my seal."
"I did," Mingyu replied. "And yet, my Third brother still thought that he could take me on and win."
"You will not—"
"Spare me the theatrics," he cut in. "While you were busy sipping tea with traitors and stroking your pride, I was cleaning up your empire."
He pulled a scroll from the inside of his robe and set it down on the table. "These," he said, tapping the seal with one bloodied fingertip, "are your loyal ministers."
The wax cracked as he opened it.
Five dozen names. Each one written in crisp, even strokes. Each one loyal not to the empire—but to themselves.
"Of course, like me, they aren't so loyal to you anymore. Instead, they have sided with the rebellion in the north," Mingyu said calmly, "to the Crown Princess and her supply lines. To the Third Prince."
He looked around the pavilion, eyes cool.
"Some of them are here. In this camp."
A ripple moved through the room like a breeze through dry grass.
"You think this stunt will make you king?" the Emperor growled, rising at last, his hands trembling. "You sit in my seat, you wave a scroll, and now you expect the court to bow?"
Zhu Mingyu didn't rise. "No, I don't expect them to bow."
He leaned forward slightly, gaze steady. "I expect them to choose."
His words landed like a stone on glass. There was no yelling, no threatening. Just the truth—bare and waiting.
He let the scroll remain open on the table, the list of names long enough to choke on. Ministers stared at it with white knuckles and shallow breathing. Everyone knew someone on that list.
Some of them were on it themselves.
"I'm not staging a coup," Mingyu shrugged, almost gently. "I'm just… removing ghosts from the palace. Traitors hiding in plain sight. We don't have room for men like that anymore."
His voice dropped. "There's a war coming. One that we barely survived the first time. And next time, there won't be a woman like Zhao Xinying willing to save us if we get it wrong."
A few of the ministers twitched at her name.
The Emperor scoffed. "That witch is gone. Lost to the mountains or the madness she unleashed."
"Is she?" Mingyu asked, raising a brow. "I somehow doubt that."
A stir rose near the edge of the tent.
Bootsteps—slow, deliberate—crunched over gravel and dust.
The guards at the pavilion entrance looked up, startled, then stepped back, parting without a word. A hush swept through the camp beyond, rippling like the wake of something large and dangerous moving through still water.
Then came the scent.
Copper. Earth. Rot.
And then—
Zhao Xinying ducked under the tent flap, straightened, and walked in as if she'd never left.
Her hair was damp, her robes stained from shoulder to hem in blackened red. One of her sleeves was torn. Her eyes swept the room casually—imperial ministers, Red Demon soldiers, generals, and royals all frozen mid-breath.
She looked radiant.
And in her left hand, swinging like a market basket, was the severed head of the Third Prince.
Blood dripped from its chin, trailing down her knuckles. The mouth hung slack. The eyes were still open.
Xinying gave the room a bright smile.
"Sorry I'm late," she said, her voice light as silk. "Took a little longer than expected."
She walked past the stunned guards, past the ministers who couldn't quite look away, and tossed the head onto the center table. It landed with a dull, wet thud, knocking over an inkstone and splattering a droplet of blood onto the edge of the Emperor's map.
Then she looked at Zhu Mingyu, tilted her head, and added with a wink—
"Hi, Honey, I'm home. Did you miss me?"